


The Strilonde Phenomenon

by archaicGambit



Series: AlphaRose-Collected Drabble/Stories [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Post-Scratch, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaicGambit/pseuds/archaicGambit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two most intellectual celebrities in pop culture are also the dumbest pair of dorks to mankind. Combined, they cannot hold a normal conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strilonde Phenomenon

**Author's Note:**

> Alpha!Dave<3Alpha!Rose's entry for MR2, Cycles.  
> I did the writing.  
> Art is by evionth, who is on tumblr. She is a lovely artist, so go follow her!

This was the first time Rose had been to one of Dave’s “Shindig-thingamajigs,” as he called his premieres. Like most things, it was a game to him. This was his 6th film in five years- his production was rapidly sped up by the fact that he could re-use large segments of footage.

The summer sky was overcast- it was hot and humid and horrible, but the event wasn’t actually very crowded. There were four premieres happening near simultaneously, and last time he’d had a premiere, he had just shown up at a random theater- she imagined there were reporters stationed at every indie theatre across the country with the anticipation that he wouldn’t actually go to the event he was scheduled for. To keep them on their toes, he had shown up promptly at the event he was scheduled for.

She’d had the misconception the event would be formal, and wore a dark velvet dress, with a lovely pattern of fleur-de-lis down the skirt. She hadn’t seen dave for most of the week- he was busy, while she wrote from the hotel- she hadn’t anticipated neon roller-skates and shorts with a triangle pattern that screamed 1991, but he’d offered to skate her out when it was all over, so she’d grumbled passively and taken his arm, ready to be moral support.

Members of his cast and crew were already stalled, talking to reporters or fans at different segments of the red carpet. Rose spotted Ben Stiller, the man who had given Dave his iconic glasses, and waved politely. There was a long zig-zag of a trail towards the theater’s entrance. Rose inhaled deeply as the deafening roar of his fans filled the street. She wasn’t fond of huge crowds, especially huge crowds of young men, and they certainly came out for dave in droves, sporting snapbacks and t-shirts with specially pixelated slogans. Some of the sweaty adolescents wore morph-suit cosplays of the characters. Rose could admire their dedication, although little else about them.

She had to lift her skirt so she wouldn’t trip over it in her heels, and there was some fuss to make sure dave didn’t run over the slight train with his roller-skates as they began their journey. Dave dropped her arm in about two seconds to sign a teenage boy’s forehead- the void he left was filled instantly by the sudden presence of a tall man with what seemed to be a premature head of silver hair. He spoke rapidly, and shoved his microphone in her face. It was only after he started talking that she noticed the man had a cameraman with him. She glanced at the camera apprehensively.

“Ms. Lalonde. E! Magazine here. We’re surprised that you’re here after you and Mr. Strider started your divorce proceedings-”

Rose couldn’t help but laugh. “We haven’t gotten married,” she corrected politely. The evening had just started and she reminded herself to be patient. “There’s no divorce?”

“So he forgave you for your lesbian affair?”

Rose stiffened, showing few outwards signs of her anger that would only be noticed by the keen observer- the slight tightening of her wrist as she was tempted to remove her strife deck, how she stood up a little straighter, and the black line of her her mouth became just a little tighter.

A girl she had seen casually years before she met Dave had been conned into doing a “spill all.” Their brief period of dating had been transformed by the media into a lurid affair, with the 4 year old photos at the top of her google image search. The fact that this particular reporter had ignored that she’d come out as bisexual at a charity event for queer teens 5 years ago.

Rose smiled her extra-polite smile, teeth white and clenched. “Where exactly do you get your news Mr-”

“Bennet-”

“Thank you.” She blinked with purposeful sweetness, “Anyways, it seems to me that your uniquely incompetent brand of journalism is a veritable ouroboros, constantly devouring its own cesspool of fake quotes and pictures taken without consent-” Rose felt a hand on her waist- and looked up to see Dave, trying to balance himself on the roller-skates.

“Hey babe, that’s a lot of big words for this part of the country. Take it down a notch for those of us who don’t have 5,000 honorary degrees from every ivy league college in the known universe. Some of us come from simple roots.” She could see him spare her a concerned glance behind the shades- the lack of sun had lessened the usual glare off his aviators.

Rose felt the tiniest part of her irritation fall away, “Simple roots? You mean the old days when we walked uphill both ways through a snowstorm to get to the schoolhouse, where we would do arithmetic on chalkboards?”

“Holy shit no- not old, simple. Real american. Like the fetus of an apple pie that owns 50 rifles. Probably setting up a small rifle business. That’s what’s American these days, right?” She noticed his hand re-angle her hips away from Mr. Bennet.

“Would an apple pie fetus be an apple pie that’s still in the oven?” She inquired, realizing the subtle escape plan.

“Guess so. ‘Cuz like, the metaphor people use sometimes? A bun in the oven? Yeah. The oven is also it’s business place though. ‘Cause the economy’s so hot.” He grabbed her hands, and pushed off on his skates to drag her after him.

“So the metaphorical uterus is a small business? You’re a man of many ideas, Mr. Strider.”

“You can have a field day with that one. I’m feeling magnanimous tonight.”

She kissed him on the cheek, feather-light to avoid smearing her black lipstick on him. “I do hope you don’t regret that in the next few hours.”

~*~

Dave had toured with the film for about a week. She’d barely seen him outside the premiere. Now, they finally found a moment of silence in their busy schedules, and Rose had flown with dave to his L.A apartment. He had another apartment back in Texas, his first one- a ratty, cramped space, and this one- which she had only been in for a few hours. This one was spacious, with large windows and scant decoration, at least in comparison to his SBAHJ-cluttered nightmare in his home state.The kitchen was sleek and very high tech, the fridge had a twitter. She’d asked why, and he’d smirked- “Fuckin’ ridiculous, right?” They’d ordered in the greasiest, most disgusting pizza that Rose had ever had while she made a great show of letting him beat her at Mario Kart, purposefully dodging power ups, and eventually, following the track backwards. He swore at her and called her the worst cheater alive. Soon, he was stretched out on her lap, her hand combing gently through his hair as they caught each other up on their hectic lives.

Before long, he was on complaining about some studio exec, and Rose felt done with talking.

“Hey.” She interrupted, her voice soft.

“What?”

“I realized I haven’t seen your bedroom yet.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

        He grinned. “Holy shit you’re terrible at subtlety.”

        She laughed,  “What gave you the notion I was trying to be subtle?”

        “For one, your hand isn’t all up on my fine ass.You know, my breadwinner.”

  “You direct films with your butt?” She raised an eyebrow, amused, “What, do you slowly giggle the booty in morse code?”

        “You don’t listen to enough hip-hop,” He smiled lazily, obviously pleased with himself. “Babe, the booty don’t lie. It’s a compulsive truth teller, physically incapable of lying- an icon of truth and purity. That’s how I direct movies.”

Rose shook her head, “Do you really want me to imagine you standing in the middle of a set with hundreds of cast and crew members staring at your ass to get some sign of what to do next? Do you really want me to paint that picture for you?”

           “Jeez. Just dropping some mad facts on you but if you’re real impatient to get all up in my grill”- He rolled lazily off the couch, letting himself land on the floor before jumping up, and brushing some crumbs off his shirt. This gave her a moment to look him over, his shapely shoulders and lovely calves. She had the passing thought that his legs might look good in heels –“That way, princess.” He nodded at the hall towards the left, breaking her thought.

           She gave him a solid look as she got up, her lips a thin black line, the kind of look that made him feel he was in trouble, when usually it was nothing. The corner of her mouth broke into a smirk when she noticed she'd gotten to him.“Don’t be condescending. That’s my job.” She walked past him, giving a light slap to his ‘beacon of truth.’ He caught up to her quickly, pulling the two of them into his room.

           He closed the door behind them, drawing the little author into his arms. She was much smaller in stature, lithe, with a wiry strength and a body he adored. He kissed her sweetly, trying to be romantic, but Rose would have none of it- she jerked him down by his collar, parting his lips with her tongue. If he could say anything about Rose, it would be that she knew how to get her way. She made him feel kinda powerless sometimes, but it was also kinda hot? Their constant one-upmanship could be exhausting, especially since he knew she was smarter, and he could see her talking circles around him, but he never felt especially bad when he lost.

           He searched her back for a zipper to the sundress she was wearing. Not skipping a beat, she guided his hand under her arm- fuck, they were putting these things on the sides of dresses now? He fumbled with the tiny zipper for a moment before sliding it down to her waist, so pleased with his victory that he imagined himself leveling up. He usually felt like the biggest idiot when Rose wore her complicated work outfits that seemed to involve some sort of alchemy to get in and out of, with three invisible zippers and misleading decorative buttons.

He walked the two of them back towards the bed, smothering her shoulder with kisses while she deftly undid his skinny jeans. Yeah, he was definitely several points behind on the understanding-other-people’s-clothes front. He finished kicking out of them as he laid her down on the bed, hiking the skirt of her dress up to her waist.

“Do you want me to go down on you?” He was perched between her knees, his hands at the waistband of her panties.

She looked at him with heavily-lidded eyes, "Fuck yeah."  
She was ridiculous. It was totally disarming.

He kissed down her thighs, taking his sweet time to adore every inch of her. They were both kinda tired and he wanted to keep it slow.

“Hey, why don’t you put your mouth where your money is.”

He paused, eyebrows furrowed.

“Shit. I’m tired. I didn’t mean to switch that.” Her exhaustion from the day’s flight came out in her laughter. “That sounds completely prostitutional. Fuck.” She was still giggling about it, her hands over her face.

He snorted. “You are more than welcome to be sugar momma.”

He couldn’t see her roll her eyes from his vantage point, but he’d bet that she had. “You think I’d pay _you_ for sex?”

That was a sting. “Hey. If I hadn’t graced you with so many free samples to make you feel all entitled, you’d totally pay for me. I’d eat you out of house and home.”

“You’d what?” She had that tone of voice where she’d discovered a joke and was waiting to see if anyone would be in on it with her.

“I’d eat you out of house and home,” He repeated, blankly. “Fucking cockshit. Cunnilignus pun.” He laughed, and flopped down onto her stomach. “Sorry I’m fucking useless.”

“More like useless at fucking.” There was a slight grumble in her voice, but her nails were soothingly combing through his hair again. “Are you already out? I’m still wearing underwear.”

“Don’t tell anyone. It’d be bad for business.”

“It’s only 9:30. You must’ve lied to me about your age to be tired this early.”

“I’m jetlagged.” He shuffled around the bed awkwardly for a moment to settle on lying at her side, wrapping his arms around her narrow waist. “Look, I promise I’ll show you how to use my shower tomorrow. It’ll be hot.”

“I bet it will.” she snickered.

“Was that another goddamn pun?” he whispered into her ear so his breath tickled at her skin. She laughed.

“What if it was? Are you the pun police?”

“Yeah, and you’re off with a warning this time because you’re sexy and I’m not above abusing my power.”

“That’s good. Pun jail would be horrendous.”

It felt inevitable. Being like this, with her. No matter the conversation, they pulled themselves into a cycle of nonsense, but nothing else in the world made him so goddamn happy.


End file.
